


Lean On Me

by Isilarma



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Family of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Near Drowning Experience, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilarma/pseuds/Isilarma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos learned a lot of things growing up in the Court of Miracles. Swimming wasn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lean On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt ' Growing up in the court of miracles, Porthos had never learned how to swim. But it hadn't been an issue until he was knocked from his horse in battle into a river.'
> 
> Many thanks to Red Tigress and Tenebrielle for the beta.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It had been a few months after Aramis had joined them that the subject came up.

“How did you never learn to swim?” Aramis demanded. 

Porthos shrugged. “I had other things on my mind.”

Aramis laughed, but Athos had regarded him calmly. “Well, either of us are here, should you ever want to learn.”

“Why? Can’t exactly fight underwater, can I?” And he had no intention of trying it for pleasure.

“No,” said Athos. “But it might be useful.”

Porthos considered that. He made it a point to never dismiss the opportunity to learn new things; after all, that was the only reason he was a musketeer now. On the other hand, learning to swim wasn’t exactly a priority. “Another time maybe.”

Athos had nodded, then Aramis had made a joke and the subject had been changed. Sometimes Porthos considered bringing it up, but there were always plots to stop and criminals to catch and the cardinal’s guards to annoy, and the matter always slipped from his mind again.

Now, as he struggled with a bandit on the edge of a swollen river, Porthos began to wish he had made some time after all.

The irritating thing was, the mission had been going well. They had located the bandits that had been harassing the king’s messengers, and the criminals had been no match for a troop of the finest Musketeers. The three of them had only remained behind because Aramis had found the tracks of a few stragglers. Porthos didn’t like loose ends. They made things untidy. So they had given chase, and they had caught up, and now they were fighting in one of the last locations Porthos would have chosen. And, just to make things even more fun, they didn’t know for sure if this accounted for everyone they were pursuing. 

Porthos ducked a swing and shook his head. Fight now. Worry about the mission later.

It had been raining heavily. The long grass was slippery. And so it was with a horrible sense of resignation that Porthos felt his foot slip as he jumped back to avoid another thrust. His arms flew out in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, but there was nothing in reach, and nothing he could do to stop himself from tumbling backwards into the river.

The shock of the icy water took his breath away, and before Porthos even knew what was happening he had was swallowing water. He clamped his mouth shut, but his head had already slipped beneath the surface, and panic began to surge through him. He thrashed about desperately, and for a moment there was a gleam of hope that he was making progress.

But the weight of his clothes and weapons was too much. Porthos fought, just as he had always fought, but this was not an enemy that could be knocked out by a solid punch. Spots began to dance in front of his eyes as the burn in his chest grew to an intolerable level, and his mouth opened in a soundless scream. It was not going to end like this.

Then hands were on his arm, holding him tight and pulling him upwards. His head broke the surface, and the air he dragged into his lungs was the sweetest thing he had ever known. He kicked desperately, the knowledge of what awaited him should he start sinking again fuelling his desperation.

“Porthos!”

The shout by his ear dimly registered, but Porthos was too busy coughing so hard he thought his lungs would burst to pay attention.

“Porthos, I’ve got you, but you need to calm down.” There was a splash and a curse. “And stop waving that thing around.”

This time, the calm command cut through Porthos’ panic, and he realised with a start, and a rush of irrational pride, that his sword was still clenched in one hand. Acknowledging that spearing his rescuer would not be the best plan, he fought his instincts to continue to thrash. The iron grip on his arm didn’t waver, even through another coughing fit, until Porthos was finally able to take a full breath. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Any time,” Athos grunted. “Now if you would help kick us towards the bank that would be most appreciated.”

Porthos glanced round. Athos’ gaze was fixed on the bank opposite, but his face was white and Porthos knew he hadn’t imagined the strain in his voice. He kicked hard, forcing himself to concentrate on the promise of dry land and safety, and his friend’s growing fatigue, rather than the terror of the past moments. “Where's Aramis,” he choked, and he didn’t care if he sounded stressed. Given that he had nearly drowned, he decided he was allowed to be.

“We’ve drifted,” Athos gasped. “It happens in rivers.”

Porthos frowned and kicked harder, ignoring the growing burn in his muscles and lungs. “Might need to take you up on those lessons after all.”

Athos spared him a look. “Good idea.” He nodded past Porthos’ head. “If we get to that tree, can you get out?”

Porthos followed his gaze. A tree was growing by the bank some way downstream from them, and its branches overhung the river. It wouldn’t be easy, but the banks were otherwise steep and smooth and this was the best chance he had seen so far. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Athos grunted. He coughed, and Porthos had a momentary surge of panic, but he just shook his head and continued. “This is why we keep our uniforms simple.”

Porthos had been having the same thought. “Extra protection.” Not that he was going to admit it. A change of subject was in order. “Will Aramis-”

“I killed mine, and yours was wounded,” said Athos shortly. “He’ll be fine.”

Porthos recognised the truth of that and decided to save his breath for swimming. Well, kicking. Athos was still doing most of the work. Water splashed into his face leaving him spluttering for breath, and he found himself freezing involuntarily.

“We’re nearly there,” Athos grunted. “Pretend you’re kicking Jussac.”

The image brought the ghost of a smile to Porthos’ face, and he forced his aching muscles to start working again. “He’s been pretty quiet recently.”

“Well, after what happened last time...can you really blame him? Grab that.”

Porthos took as deep breath as he was able and reached up for the nearest branch. His sodden leather made the movement harder than he expected, but he was able to get a grip, and the feel of the rough bark was almost as reassuring as Athos’ still present grip. “Got it,” he grunted.

“Good,” Athos gasped. “I’m going to let you go so you can get the next one. I’ll be right here.”

Porthos bit back the instinct to disagree and nodded. “All right.”

Still, it was all he could do to keep from freezing again as Athos released him. The sensation shamed him; he had never had cause to doubt his own strength before, but now...

“I’m right here,” Athos repeated.

Porthos took a deep breath. His fingers were starting to cramp from where he was gripping the branch so tight, and he made a conscious effort to relax. “I know.”

“Then go on. Some of us want to get to dry land soon.”

Porthos glanced back and winced. Athos lips had taken on a pale blue tinge, and he was shivering violently. Porthos knew he probably didn’t look much better himself, but it was enough to spur him into reaching for the next branch. 

Getting out was about as much fun as he had expected. It actually took two attempts; his hand slipped on the first, sending him back into the water to land almost on top of Athos. It had taken a few more minutes before either of them felt up to trying again. Eventually though, Porthos was able to pull himself out. He took a moment to savour the sensation of solid ground beneath his feet, and vow never to have anything to do with water again, before reaching back to help Athos out. A few more difficult minutes later, and the two of them were sprawled on the grass. Athos coughed violently, then let himself fall back onto one elbow. “Let’s not do that again,” he rasped. 

Porthos just nodded, too tired even to reply. Now that the need to move, to get out of the water, had lessened, the horror of those first moments was rushing back. He clenched his teeth to stop them chattering, but there was nothing he could do to stop the rest of his body trembling uncontrollably, though whether from cold of fear he honestly couldn’t say. A boot nudged his side, and he forced his eyes open to find Athos standing looking down at him. “Get up. We need to find Aramis.”

“Can’t we just wait for him to find us?” Moving was effort, and Porthos was quite comfortable where he was.

Athos’ face hardened and he crouched down. “It’s February. You’ve spent the last ten minutes in the water. If you don’t get moving soon you won’t be able to, and I am not carrying you back to Paris.”

“Not that cold,” Porthos mumbled. It really wasn’t. His eyes began to drift shut again. “’Sides, that’s what horses are for.”

“Porthos. On your feet.”

Porthos’ eyes flew open. When Athos used that tone, everyone listened. And when he used that look, everyone obeyed. He was sitting upright before he had even had time to process what he was doing, and then Athos had grabbed his arm and forced him the rest of the way. The movement made his head spin and he staggered, and he heard a faint grunt as Athos took too much of his weight again. “You’re worse than when you’re drunk,” he snarled.

“You’re one to talk,” Porthos shot back, but he made a conscious effort to hold himself steady. Athos nodded approvingly, then picked up Porthos’ sword and handed it to him.

“Make sure you clean that. And the rest.”

Porthos nodded ruefully. It would be a long chore; everything on him was soaked through, and who knew when they would next have a chance to stop, but it had to be done. He looked at Athos, realising belatedly that his friend’s weapons were nowhere to be seen.

“Aramis has them,” said Athos, in response to the look. “Can you walk?”

Porthos had no idea, but he nodded. “Course.”

Athos did not look convinced, and he hovered a little closer than was perhaps strictly necessary as they began to make their way back along the bank, but Porthos couldn’t bring himself to care. The cold from his soaked clothes was beginning to seep into him, and he wrapped his arms round his chest in an attempt to stave off the deadly chill. Athos was no better off; he bore it as stolidly as he did everything else, but Porthos could see him shivering.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Athos glared at him. “Did you jump in?”

“No, but-”

“Then it wasn’t your fault.”

“Athos-”

“Save your breath for walking,” said Athos shortly.

Porthos recognised the danger and fell silent, but the fears that had risen were not so easily quietened. Athos coughed again, and the harshness of the sound made Porthos feel worse than when he had been in the water. Musketeers should be able to look after themselves, not put their comrades in danger trying to rescue them. “Should have learned when you first suggested it,” he mumbled.

“Probably,” Athos agreed. “But you couldn’t have known this would happen.”

“You did,” Porthos shot back.

“And I should have pressed the matter, but since I didn’t, there’s no point going over it, is there?” He pushed his wet fringe out of his eyes to look at Porthos properly. “We’ll teach you, and this won’t happen again, and that’s the end of it.”

Porthos wanted to protest, but there was no one who could match Athos for pure stubbornness. So he just nodded. Athos grunted and nodded past him. “We have company.”

Porthos looked round and smiled. “Took you long enough.”

Aramis raised an eyebrow as he swung himself down from his horse. “Well, if you two will insist on leaving me to tidy up after you, you have no one to blame but yourselves.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the pair of them. “Are either of you hurt?”

“Just cold,” Athos answered. Porthos punctuated the statement with an explosive sneeze, and Aramis frowned. “We need to get you out of those wet things.”

Porthos sighed and made his way over to his horse. “Good thing we all brought blankets.” A full change of clothes would have been better, but they would make do. 

Aramis nodded. “I’ll build a fire.”

Porthos frowned at him. “We can’t stop,” Porthos protested. “We need to find the rest of them.”

“We can stop, and we will,” Aramis corrected. “We can pick up their trail easily enough, but we’re not going to make good progress with the two of you in this state.” His eyes glinted with barely concealed amusement. “Besides, do you really want to fight bandits wrapped in a blanket?”

Porthos glared at him, but didn’t have the energy to argue. Actually, he was trying to remember why he had wanted to. He had to admit that warmth and a hot meal sounded like an excellent idea. He jumped when Aramis nudged him. “What?”

“Wood?” Aramis suggested. “Unless you’re planning on burning air?”

Porthos looked round for Athos for support, only to find the older man had already disappeared. “Great,” he muttered. “I might have nearly drowned, but I can still carry things.”

Aramis smirked. “At least it’ll warm you up more.”

Porthos grumbled, but did as he was told, and before he knew it he was sitting by a crackling fire. His uniform lay next to Athos’, and the two of them were wrapped in blankets on either side of the fire. Aramis handed them both bowls of stew before coming to sit next to Porthos. “Any better?”

Porthos nodded, his mouth too full to answer audibly. Just getting dry had helped, and now that he had hot food he was beginning to feel more like his old self. Aramis clapped him on the shoulder, but his smile faded as he glanced over at Athos. Porthos followed his gaze and sighed. Pride was not always an asset. Athos caught the looks and his eyes narrowed. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

Porthos swallowed and snorted. “You realise your lips are still blue, right?”

“Just get over here,” said Aramis wearily.

Athos hesitated, but fear of freezing won out over fear of physical contact and he came over to sit on Porthos’ other side. Porthos and Aramis exchanged grins, before turning their attention back to their food without comment. 

The rest of the meal passed in silence, and by the time they finished Porthos’ shivers had finally started to ease. Athos too had finally started to look more like his old self. Aramis began to clear away while Porthos finally turned his attention to his weapons and equipment. As much as he wanted sleep, he wasn’t leaving this any later. He’d risked his companions’ lives quite enough already. At least the work kept his hands moving.

He was surprised when Athos, after watching in silence for a few minutes, reached over to pick up one of his knives. He glanced at Porthos and shrugged. “It was an accident.”

Porthos just smiled. Aramis returned to his previous position and picked up another knife, and Porthos felt the last of the tension start to drain from his muscles. 

Then Athos coughed, and Porthos felt his chest tighten. He gritted his teeth and forced the memories away. He was fine, Athos was fine, everyone was fine. That was the end of it.

It had to be.

\---

He was in the water. He tried to copy what he had seen Athos do; he used his arms and kicked with all his might, but all his efforts were in vain as his head slipped beneath the surface. Bubbles streamed from his mouth and nose as he sank deeper and deeper, and all attempts to keep calm evaporated as his lungs began to scream for air and he recognised the awful truth, that he was alone and he was going to die and there was absolutely nothing he could do, and now the water was rushing in...

“Porthos!”

Porthos’ eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright. His pulse was pounding in his head, and his hand was on his sword hilt before he recognised Aramis’ worried face. His friend had a tight grip on both arms, and the firelight cast the lines of fatigue on his face into sharp relief. “Are you all right?”

Porthos nodded, concentrating on taking deep breaths as his heart rate slowly returned to normal. “Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate, and Aramis knew better than to ask. Instead he nodded and sat back, though he stayed close enough that Porthos could feel the warmth emanating from him. Porthos looked away, unwilling to accept the compassion in his eyes and frowned as he caught a glimpse of the first streaks of dawn in the sky. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Aramis shrugged. “You needed the rest more than I did. Both of you,” he added, when Porthos’ eyes narrowed. Porthos looked round to see Athos rolled in a blanket on his other side, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even. He looked back at Aramis and raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not going to be happy.”

“Nothing new there,” Aramis pointed out.

Porthos snorted softly and shuffled closer to the fire. “Worse than usual then.”

“Probably,” Aramis agreed. He sounded about as worried by the prospect as Porthos was. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine. I can take the rest-”

“Don’t even think about it,” said Aramis. His tone was light, but Porthos knew better than to doubt the glint in his eye. Truth be told, he wasn’t too disappointed. As much as he hated being coddled, he really was struggling to keep his eyes open.

Then again, whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was dark water, and feel water rushing into his lungs. He shivered. “Not that tired.”

Aramis hummed, his dark eyes thoughtful. “We’ll start teaching you properly when we get back. We’re owed a few days leave after that mess in Gascony last week.”

Porthos fought to keep himself from flinching. Right now, the last thing he wanted to do was get back in the water. It had to be done; he couldn’t let them down again, and he knew he could do it. But the thought of going through that again...

“Porthos.”

Porthos looked up to find a small smile on Aramis’ face. “Do you think we’d ever let anything happen?”

Porthos looked at him, at his drawn face and the the dark rings under his eyes, and then back to where Athos lay within arm’s reach, and smiled. “Course not.”

“Good,” came Athos’ dry voice. “Now, if that’s settled, can you please go back to sleep.” 

Aramis laughed. “Someone needs his sleep,” he said lightly. Athos mumbled something inaudible and rolled over, and Porthos felt his own smile widen. 

He did have good friends.


End file.
